A Bid Farewell
by theytalktome
Summary: Fandango cries out as Dean pushes him, throwing him into the cheap drywall, his head cracks against it and sends him reeling. He demands that the brunette pack up his things and leave.


Security had been to the small two-bedroom suite a total of three times before the police had finally shown up, knocking at the door with the final threat of arrest weighing on the occupants shoulders. An embarrassment for themselves, and more importantly; the company they worked for.

The rounds of "shut up" matches continued, albeit thrown in voices that had been hushed from the threat of jail and raspy from screaming. Regardless of the weighing threat of officers returning to haul each person away the wars continued.

Fandango lies in the first bed, exhausted from the screaming and the physicality of being shoved, threatened and the cold feeling of his entire body trembling with fear. The sheets are thrown over his strewn body, limbs lazily hanging though feet were delicately placed on a pillow at the end of the mattress. Over his head, his fingers grew white grasping at the comforter, chestnut hair poking into his eyes as he shifted his head on the cheap pillow.

The dancer can hear the next fight growing with every footstep the carpeted floor doesn't fully mute. Steps, lights on, off, on again and restless shuffling. His unstable fiancé was all over the room, every inch that could be walked on was, and he decides this time around, as if alternating the tides, that he would again pick a new fight with his Shield teammate, Roman Reigns.

As the argument begins, Fandango begins to realize how wise Seth Rollins had been to start pleading his own lover to start attending the shows that his clients had not even been booked on.

The Maine native despised the thought that he, as beautiful and perfect - and talented- as he was, had found himself jealous of a one Paul Heyman. The biggest fight between the partial-blonde Shield member and his lover had been over what pizza place to chose and what object to have sex on next. Fandango remembers those honeymoon days of a new relationship, but even Seth's had to have been growing strained - Heyman, God knowing, was nothing to look at, and besides maybe a slight of power and input, had nothing to offer Seth… Then again, Rollins was the man who dated Dusty Rhodes back in NXT. Maybe he had a thing for… fat and old. Fandango shudders at his own thoughts. He doubts that the older man, Heyman, has any bedroom prowess; obese, slow and not one to over exert himself to please another person. Maybe, he thinks, he picked the wrong Shield member to fall for - he could drink himself to death being with Ambrose.

Where Heyman failed to make himself useful in anyway to the relationship, Seth was there filling it with romance, lust and almost as importantly - peace. Seth didn't live every day in agony and wait of being annoyed to death or argued into submission and his blood pressure wasn't going to send him to an early grave. His biggest problems seemed to be managing his own weight over the reign of dominance ice cream held on him, and getting Lesnar out of the room long enough for a quickie - which Fandango chalked up all of the sex to be. He chuckles into the pillow at the thought, muffling the sound. Heyman was not a man of stamina, but Seth was young and eager to please.

He slowly realizes that he's not just thinking that there was a problem in the relationship for Seth, but trying to settle his own mind, that maybe he would feel better knowing Seth's happiness was a facade too.

The only one who really knew he was dying inside has been his dance partner Summer Rae.

The bed rustles beside his body, and he knows it's not Ambrose simply by the weight and gentleness - it was beside the fact that he was still in the corner fighting about the outcome of

tonight's match with Roman. He sighs, a scuffed version of the word "what" comes out of his mouth as his shoulders are gently rocked, his vocals strained from screaming his point across the room.

He moves the sheets back from over his head and rolls over onto his side. He looks up, his eyes meeting with those of his ring announcer's. Justin Roberts stares down at him, eyes trembling like his body had. Quietly, he poses the question Fandango didn't really want to admit to himself: he asks if they are breaking up and there's an obvious heart ache in his voice, a deeper meaning to the question.

Fandango nods, and whispers a quiet confirmation that comes out in a stuttered "Yeah.." Instead of the affirmative "GOD, FUCK YES" he had in mind for when this moment arrived and he triumphantly threw a diamond in the man's face. The uncertainty in his voice is frightening. It makes his heart numb and his eyes water like the man looking down at him.

The deeper meaning comes quickly, the dancer not having to pry for it. The ring announcer sighs softly and he lets it be known to the world that his own relationship with Roman Reigns had run it's

course. His voice is as quiet as Fandango had ever heard it; full of heartache. Even the way it is admitted completely breaks the dancers heart, "He doesn't notice me anymore..."

Fandango blinks, just looking at the man only two years older than he; and listens to Justin speak; he had left the second bed to come talk, and listening was the least that he could do. It hurts, hearing him; Roman doesn't notice him - and that's okay to Justin, because he understands.

Roberts isn't the most noticed person, not on the roster, at least. His voice is payed attention to for

all but twenty seconds before he is invisible again. It was amazing that a man like Roman noticed him in the first place, and he feels "honored" to have someone care. People never looked at him, never saw him. Justin is nearing forty - he reasons this with Fandango, who is suddenly not feeling twenty anymore.

The dancer can't believe that the announcer feels lucky to have had the romance when he did, and is god damned "thankful" for it - thankful?! Like everyone else, Roman has receded back into the section of passerby's.

Justin cocks his head as Roman falls onto the bed where he had been laying in the middle of prior. He didn't even notice he wasn't laying there anymore, he threw himself onto the bed without even looking. Fandango nods, eyes narrowed at the large Samoan.

Ambrose lets out a grunt of frustration as he slams his fists on the bathroom sink before suddenly smashing his hand against the bottles and containers on the counter. Fandango moves from the bed, shoving Dean away from his things. For some reason, his assortment of body sprays, hair styling products and bath products chose this moment to piss off the man.

Fandango cries out as Dean pushes him, throwing him into the cheap drywall, his

head cracks against it and sends him reeling. He demands that the brunette pack

up his shit and leave.

Fandango shakes his head and gets up, he follows Ambrose, grabbing at him and dizzily falling into the man, he apologizes, and wishes he hadn't. Maybe it was the hit from the wall that rattled his poor brain.

Dean shrugs him off, retreating into the bathroom as the man stumbles and falls to his feet.

He grabs his bag when he begins to recover, Justin helping him back to stability. The two move back to the counter just outside the bathroom door and collect Fandango's array of stuff, shoving every item into his bag until all was packed. The dancer throws the bag haphazardly into his oversized suitcases and moves to collapse down into the mattress where Justin Roberts returned to, shaking. Roberts would never survived had Roman chose to become as violent and unstable rather than distant.

He proposes the idea that Dean would be left for a woman - Summer Rae. Which was perfect in Fandango's mind - he loved his best friend, they even had a cat together. It was the world's best choice …aside from the fact that she was just as gay as he, and wildly in love with the Anti-Diva Paige, whom she had left in NXT as she moved to the main roster to join him as his dance partner.

He wishes he could find the male equivalent to her - he thought he had, once - but it seemed that all his relationships were doomed for this fate of abuse. The one other man in his life ... He had been perfect. Fandango realizes that he would still be with the ex-Dancing with the Star's champion if Ambrose had not intervened.

God, he loved that man, he confesses to Roberts. He was so beyond perfect that he couldn't fully encompass it. It was the drinking that made him violent, and he could deal with it when it was coming from an international dancing celebrity - who wouldn't take the wrestler back had he come wrapped in gold.

He looks at Roberts before staring down at the ring on his own finger. He calmly tells Roberts that he can not leave Dean - he would never find anyone else.

Fandango was hated. He was flawless and flawlessly annoying. He has high tastes and serious needs for materialistic things. Ambrose was accommodating. He couldn't dance, but he let Fandango be who he was; an arrogant, feminine jackass.

Justin nods with the same knowing. No one but Roman had ever been close to him. …and now he was just some extra pillow sham on the bed instead of a person. Where Roman had been madly in love, he was now bored and unbelievably disinterested.

He reasons that he does not deserve a smoking hott man like that.

A Samoan god was not fit for some small, little ring announcer with no ring talent, with no

ability to perform, with nothing to offer; his looks were just OK, at best, anyway.

Tears fall faster every second that Justin realizes how ridiculous it was to be in love with this man. He just didn't deserve it.

Fandango plays with the ring on his finger, and he knows that Roman had purchased one for Roberts - it just wasn't on his finger, and that had been some time ago… Reigns wasn't going to propose, after all. Maybe there was some fact to what Roberts was saying, but Fandango wasn't about to break the announcers heart anymore than it already was by revealing something like that.

Roman certainty hadn't gone to the horrible lengths of simply listening to the conversation

happening a few feet away. Maybe he was asleep. Maybe he was ignoring it - and really didn't care.

Dean was holed up in the bathroom - he obviously didn't care.

Fandango's heart aches, and a migraine begins to settle right in back of his eyes and pounding into his temples. It was nothing compared to the way his ex had knocked him around, Dean had never gotten that violent with him - he was grateful, but suddenly begins to think that he is undeserving of the love, too.

Where he had gone wrong with his Dancing champion, he had gone wrong here too.

He was the factor in these ruined relationships. He was the one fucking everything up: he wasn't cut out for this, he couldn't be the man Seth Rollins was - crafted for perfecting the ideal of love and romance. The Shield's highflier wanted to be married, happy and beginning a family with more than just his Yorkshire terrier, Kevin, and have a husband to come home to; and a baby was definitely chalked into that life too - there had been the most embarrassing moments that made this a pure fact. Several times, on nights after shows or the mornings after, he had blindly wandered into the unlocked adjacent, connected hotel room looking for Dean to just to walk in on the young highflier adoring the way his body looked, lower abdomen bloated and stretched with a 'foodbaby': overstuffed from spending the night indulging in ice cream, pizza and cake until his poor belly

was so distended that he was panting. ...Addiction apparently came in all forms.

Dean growls in frustration from the bathroom and it snaps Fandango from his stupid thoughts. He looks up at Justin, feeling regret for the fact that this man in front of him, deserving of love, of a ring on his finger, of someone perfect...

It's in that moment that he realizes he can't even picture himself being married - what his attire would look like walking down the isle - would he wear a gorgeous suit? Matching dresses with Summer? A shirt and some pants, casual… but dressy? He didn't know, and that really hurt...

He was good at planning these things, but this one situation never came to him. Being with

someone without having an emergency bag to leave with... It was impossible.

He admits aloud that he is the one undeserving. That he had made Ambrose this

way; jumping on his friends, cracking The Shield's unbreakabke stature... Causing him to be violent. Ambrose was lashing out because he was miserable and just stuck.

He would have twisted off the ring right there if it hadn't been worth so much money - which meant shoes, some new wardrobe additions, a cruise - with Summer, a spa weekend, with Summer, a vacation in Malibu with her and a new luxury apartment after pawning it.

He holds onto Roberts' hand tight for a moment before whispering for him to get his things - they were going to leave on their own terms, instead of waiting to get dumped and divorced.


End file.
